


your songs resolve like my life never will

by shinealightonme



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Drunkenness, M/M, Meet-Cute, Washington D.C.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-26
Updated: 2018-11-26
Packaged: 2019-08-29 13:47:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16745131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinealightonme/pseuds/shinealightonme
Summary: "How drunk are you?""I don't need to be drunk for you to be annoying."





	your songs resolve like my life never will

**Author's Note:**

> For an anon on tumblr who requested "Ronan; Are you drunk?"
> 
> I was sitting there going, man I would love to write something fluffy and silly right now, and then I realized, _I could write something fluffy and silly right now._

"Excuse me."

Ronan is just angry enough to take those as fighting words. "Why should I?"

"I'm sorry?"

A pair of long gorgeous eyelashes blinks at him. Ronan forces himself to not be distracted by those eyelashes, or by the sharp blue eyes behind them, or the cheekbones under the eyes on the face that he's not paying attention to.

"Why do I have to excuse you?"

Another extravagant blink. You shouldn't be allowed to blink when you have eyelashes like that. "Because I'm trying to get to the bathroom, and you're blocking the door?"

"Fine." Ronan steps a few feet down the hall, mostly by sliding his weight along the wall. "Have fun in the bathroom."

Blue eyes narrow at him. "How drunk are you?"

"I don't need to be drunk for you to be annoying."

"Okay, just so I'm clear, you're refusing to let me use the bathroom but I'm the annoying one?"

Ronan _tchs_ and slides down a few more feet of wall.

The cheekbones stare after him for a second before shaking their head and walking through the door.

Ronan tosses back the last of his drink. Declan told him to count his drinks tonight, and he had every intention of doing just that so he could tell Declan precisely how much he'd overdone it, but he has actually lost count at this point. He _had_ to; it's the only way he knows to survive a political fundraiser for one of their dad's old cronies.

He must shut his eyes at some point, because he opens them to find that there are blue eyes peering at him, and also that the world has gone tilted.

"Okay, you're coming with me."

Ronan doesn't have any real objections to following those cheekbones anywhere, especially not after they pull his arm over their shoulder and wrap their arm around his waist. But he's got an attitude to maintain. He can't just go around being pleasant and agreeable to every pair of blue eyes, or he'll get out of shape. "Why should I?"

"Because you're listing to starboard and I'd rather you didn't capsize."

"So? S'not your problem."

"'The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil,' et cetera."

There's an alarming second where Ronan thinks he's falling, and then he realizes he's being lowered onto what turns out to be a chair at a table in a large empty kitchen. The blue eyes start opening cupboards.

"This's a DC party," Ronan points out. "I thought the triumph of evil was the whole point."

"Fair. Call it enlightened self-interest, then." He grabs a glass and takes it over to the sink. "I can stay here and get to avoid a political fundraiser, or I can leave and have all of the fun of a political fundraiser with the added guilt of abandoning someone in need."

"Isn't a political fundraiser its own reward?"

"No." A glass of water appears on the table in front of him. "Drink this."

"Why should I?"

"So you don't die of dehydration."

"I'm never going to die."

"Drink this so you don't live with a hangover for eternity like Prometheus getting his liver pecked out."

Ronan snorts, so he figures that's worth taking a drink of water.

"Okay, you -- what's your name?"

"Fuckov."

"That's not a name."

"It is in Russia, probably."

"You don't make anything easy, do you." There's a sound of running water again. "What if I tell you my name?"

God, this is a lot of work, sitting up _and_ holding a glass of water _and_ talking. He puts the glass down and shuts his eyes, leaning his face on his hands. "What about it?"

"I'm Adam -- can you tell me your name?"

"Ronan."

"Ronan. Is anyone missing you right now?"

"No." Suddenly there's a pleasant cool feeling on the back of his neck, like a wet towel. It helps him find more words to say. "My fucking brother made me come but he doesn't care what happens after that. As long as I show up and make the Lynch family look good and normal and stable even though we're not."

"Oh, shit." The cool feeling on his neck moves away. "You're a Lynch."

Ronan picks his face up off his hands. "So?"

"So, I shouldn't have gotten you alone." The cloth presses against the back of his neck again. "I don't want people to think I took advantage of you. I don't need Declan Lynch out for my blood."

"Anyone who thinks I needed to get my advantage taken never saw you."

"If that was supposed to be coherent, you definitely need more water."

"You're hot."

"You're drunk." He holds up the water glass. "Here."

Ronan drinks the entire glass in one shot, so he can't get pestered about it anymore, and then he leans forward onto the blue eyes' shoulder.

He can feel the shoulder under his head move with a sigh. "Explain to me how this proves that your family's political dynasty is stable."

"All politicians are drunks," Ronan mutters. "Shouldn't you know that if you are one?"

"I'm worse than a politician, I'm a lobbyist."

"So, what, you're a cokehead?"

"I prefer the high of feeling superior to people who get wasted at fundraisers."

He opens his eyes to glare, but all he can see from this angle is part of a blurry chin. That's so much less than the view he _could_ have that he sits back up. "For a Good Samaritan you're really a smug asshole."

"Congratulations." He even sounds cheerful about it. "You're more observant drunk than most of my exes were sober. It usually takes someone two dates to realize I'm an asshole."

"Does that mean this is a date?"

"Sure, if that gets you to drink this." He holds up another cup of water. Where the hell is he getting all of these cups?

"No more water." Ronan stands up, with the help of the back of his chair, the table, and a stabilizing hand on his back. "There's got to be coffee around here somewhere."

"Coffee doesn't actually sober you up. It's just going to make you more dehydrated."

Ronan says, in his best disdainful Declan impression, "I think I know how to be drunk."

"Oh, I'd say you absolutely know how to be drunk."

He pokes around cupboards until he finds a tub of ground coffee. He scoops some out into a coffee pot, fills it with water, and sets it down carefully on the counter.

He turns around and his date is smiling about something. It's kind of a funny smile, and kind of mean, and so lovely it makes Ronan dizzy, or maybe that's just the spins.

"Why don't you have a seat while you," and his smile gets even wider, "wait for your coffee to brew."

"If you insist." Ronan sits down, somehow keeps going down after he's already seated. It takes him a second to realize that he's splayed out over the table.

"I might have made a mistake." The humor has vanished from his Samaritan's voice, and Ronan thinks _yes, that's a mistake_. "Maybe I should have taken you to your brother."

"No." Ronan pulls himself up off the table as best he can. "He doesn't need to see what a fuck up I am."

"It sounded like maybe that was the point."

"Maybe. I don't know. Shit."

"Forget I said anything." A hand comes to rest on his back, in slow steps; the fingertips, and then the fingers, and then the palm, like he has to test to be sure Ronan won't burn him. "We can just sit here until you feel better."

"You don't have to do shit for me," Ronan says.

"I told you, I like getting out of parties."

"Aren't lobbyists supposed to always be mingling and networking and shit?"

There's a long pause, and Ronan is just starting to wonder if maybe he didn't say anything out loud after all. Fuck, he needs that coffee.

Then he hears, quiet and flat, "To be honest, I don't like my job very much."

"So do something else."

"It's not that easy to stop doing the thing you're supposed to do."

"Sure it is. It's so fucking easy. I was supposed to be a senator."

"You still could, you know." There's that funny little mean smile again. "If politicians are all drunks."

Ronan pushes himself back up to his threatening height, although it doesn't have any effect on that smile. He can't regret that. "Don't sit there and insult me."

"Are you going to argue that you're sober?"

"Don't say I could be a senator," Ronan clarifies. "That's just fucking rude. Uncalled for."

"All right," his date agrees. "You will never be a senator, and I can find something else to do. Maybe I could just go on rescuing drunks at parties."

"No," Ronan says. "I don't want to share you."

He laughs, like that's a joke, but Ronan means it, absolutely. And he can prove it.

Ronan leans forward and kisses him.

He doesn't react right away, and then he puts a hand to Ronan's chest. It isn't a push, just enough pressure that when he pulls away Ronan can't follow after him.

"Don't do that."

"Why not?"

"Ronan." There's no smile on his face, not even a mean one, and that does a lot more to sober Ronan up than any amount of water could. "What's my name?"

And Ronan has no answer to that.

He stands up, leaving Ronan behind, wheels spinning frantically in his head. It was something biblical, right?

"Joshua," he says. "Jacob. Jesus."

"I can't believe I have to say this, but no, my name is not _Jesus_." He's not even looking at Ronan, just messing with his phone. "Come on, I'm taking you home."

Ronan perks up. "Yeah?"

" _Your_ home, Ronan, and then I'm leaving you there."

"Why?"

"Because you think my name is _Jesus_." He guides Ronan out to the hall, but he's not holding him up this time. "I'm not going to sleep with a drunk guy."

"Tomorrow I'll be sober and you'll still be hot."

"Don't try to win me over with Winston Churchill."

"Okay, how should I win you over?"

They step outside, and fuck, it's dark. Ronan turns around and around but he can't figure out where they are.

Not-Jesus takes him by the elbow and steers him forward. "Look on the bright side. You aren't even going to remember me tomorrow, so none of this matters."

"I'll remember you."

He just shakes his head. "What's your address?"

Ronan thinks for a split second and then spits out Declan's address.

He's in a car, pressed up against the window, and he missed a couple of steps somewhere, but that's not the important thing.

"David," he mutters. "Isaac. Elijah."

Those gorgeous eyelashes close. "Please stop guessing."

"If I remember it tomorrow, will you give me a second chance?"

The car comes to a stop, rocking forward slightly.

"Sure," and the words are too light, too easy; a promise that knows it will never be honored. "If you can remember my name tomorrow I'll go out with you."

They get out of the car. Ronan makes it most of the way up to the door under his own power, only needs an arm to stabilize him when he leans too far to the side getting his keys out of his pocket. It takes him a while to remember which key on the ring is the spare that Declan made him that he's never used before.

When he finally gets the door open, he poses seductively in the doorway. Or, he tries to. He ends up leaning on the door frame pretty hard.

"Good night, Ronan," and those blue eyes get back in the car and disappear.

-

Ronan wakes up in the morning and immediately regrets it.

He stumbles into the bathroom and thinks about throwing up for a while, stumbles out into the kitchen when it doesn't feel like that's going to happen. He almost trips over Declan and his French press, who glare at him with Continental disapproval.

"Why did I come home last night to find you passed out on top of my bed?"

Ronan is confused and sick to his stomach and already annoyed with Declan because, ugh, _Declan,_ but once the question is asked bits and pieces come back to him. There was a reason he'd gone to Declan's place, beyond just harassing him.

"I need your help."

Declan sets down the French press and stares at Ronan in shock. "What?"

"Help me out and I'll make it up to you. I'll go to any stupid party you want and stay sober the whole time."

Declan drums his fingers on the counter. "What do you need?" because a childhood with Ronan has taught Declan not to blindly agree to any proposition.

"There was a guy at the fundraiser last night."

Declan rolls his eyes.

"Would you shut up for a second? He took care of me when I was drunk, and he told me his name but I forgot it. You have to help me find him."

"How am I supposed to know who you were flirting with last night?"

"He knew who you were."

"Everyone knows who I am."

"He's a lobbyist," and Ronan remembers that, at least, though of course it didn't occur to him to ask any useful follow ups like who he worked for. God, something has gone wrong in the last twelve hours if he's wishing that he'd _talked about politics more_. "And he's antisocial and funny in a mean sort of way and gorgeous."

"What do I know about gorgeous guys?"

"Could you not be such a goddamn paranoid straight guy?"

"Fine, I'll just think of everyone who was at the event last night until I find one who's antisocial and mean and gorgeous -- " Something occurs to Declan, and he frowns. "Wait, do you mean Parrish?"

Useless. His brother is useless. "What's his first name?"

"I don't know."

Ronan punches the wall.

"Chill the fuck out," Declan says. "Linked In exists for a reason."

"I don't think this is that reason."

Ronan sulks while Declan starts up his computer. He pours himself a cup of coffee and pours the rest down the drain so Declan can't have any.

"Is this him?"

Ronan peers over Declan's shoulder and immediately spills his coffee all over him.

" _Fuck._ " He kisses Declan on the cheek and runs out of the house before it occurs to him -- he still has no way to contact Adam, even if he has the name now, _Adam_ \--

He runs back into the house.

Declan holds up a piece of paper with a phone number on it.

Ronan grabs it and kisses him on the other cheek before running back out again, scrambling for his phone.

 _ADAM_  
_I figured out your name_  
_You owe me a date_

It's several minutes before his phone starts ringing. He picks up without checking the number. He never uses his phone; there's no one else that it could be.

"The condition was that you _remember_ my name," and Adam's voice is so exasperated and perfect that Ronan can't answer right away.

"I had to grovel to my brother," he gets out eventually. "Isn't that worth anything?"

"Oh, well, I'd hate for your sacrifice to be for nothing," which isn't a no, but it isn't a yes, either.

"Get lunch with me?"

"I can't believe you're even awake. I'm not optimistic about your ability to get lunch."

"Fine. Dinner."

There's a hesitation before Adam says "all right," like it isn't all right at all.

"Or don't," Ronan says, through the sting of rejection and the crash of hope and something that feels like his hangover coming back to punish him for forgetting about it. "You don't have to just because you said you would."

"It's not -- look," Adam sighs. "I'm just trying to prepare for the moment that you realize that I'm not as great as you thought I was when you were drunk."

"I'm pretty sure I called you a smug asshole last night."

He breathes out, the ghost of a laugh. "Maybe I'm not enough of an asshole, then."

"I doubt it."

There's silence on the other end of the line.

And then: "I'll pick you up at six?"

"Nah." Ronan's face breaks into a grin. "You don't know where I live."

"Did I help you break into someone's house last night," Adam says, without a trace of surprise.

"It was just Declan's place, that doesn't count."

"How am I having second thoughts on your behalf but not on my own?"

"Because you know this is a great idea."

"It's some kind of idea, anyway," but there's no doubt in Ronan's mind, not when they make plans, or when he goes home to crash for eight hours, and definitely not when he gets to the restaurant and sees Adam -- and it's not even the fact that he's just as gorgeous as Ronan remembers. It's the way that his heart jumps when Adam sees him and smiles, crooked and nervous.

"So what do you think?" 

"I think I'm pissed that I wasted last night being wasted."

Adam's smile transforms into something real and warm and open. He turns his face down and away, so Ronan only catches a glimpse of it, but that's okay. He'll see it again. He can wait.

"Don't be," Adam says. "It was...improbably adorable."

"I've never been called adorable before."

"I've never been called _Jesus_ before."

"God, get over that already."

Adam smirks as they enter the restaurant, keeps smirking until they're seated at the table, which is plenty of time for Ronan to decide that's a good look for him, too, and then the smirk fades away.

"I'm really not good at first dates," Adam says, still so convinced that Ronan is going to change his mind.

"Cool," Ronan says. "This is a second date and I already know you're an asshole."

"You have an odd kind of wisdom," Adam says.

There's a shadow of that smile again, and he doesn't hide it this time. Ronan keeps getting glimpses of it all night, when Adam outwits him to get the last appetizer and when Ronan makes fun of the loud obnoxious couple at the next table and when Adam starts suddenly and Ronan asks _what_ and Adam admits sheepishly that "I just realized I haven't thought about politics all night."

It's there when Ronan and Adam are standing in front of Adam's apartment building, and Adam looks nervous again, but he's still there, looking at Ronan.

"I still don't understand why this worked out," he says. "But I'm glad it did."

"Does it matter?" Ronan asks.

Adam shakes his head, and this time when Ronan kisses him, Adam pulls him closer and kisses him back.

**Author's Note:**

> If you like this fic you can [reblog it on tumblr.](http://toast-the-unknowing.tumblr.com/post/180501494160/oh-oh-are-you-still-doing-the-number-and)


End file.
